


the new muse

by rosielibrary



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 21:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosielibrary/pseuds/rosielibrary
Summary: you decide to take a help wanted ad asking for a model for an artist.what you don't know is that the artist is a certain stanford pines.(word of warning: this fic is from 2015 and unedited!)





	the new muse

The advertisement on your dorm’s bulletin board asks for a model of whatever gender, whatever school year. They have to be comfortable posing for long hours, and they’d get paid $10 an hour for doing it, which was impressive.

Call Stanford Pines at this number if you’re interested in the job.

So you do, despite how it takes you an hour to pick up the phone. You couldn’t help it; you had terrible anxiety about phone calls, even when your parents told you time after time that they were “just phone calls” and to “get over it". It wasn’t that easy. You’d always been very shy, easy to duck away from conversation, nose in a book when eating lunch. Making friends was hard, and making phone calls was even harder.

But you force yourself to press the buttons and hold the receiver to your ear, heart in your throat. It rings for a long while and you’re tempted to hang up, but the noise stops and you freeze.

“Hello, Stanford Pines here!”

His voice is deep, welcoming. You swallow, your fingers curling into your shirt.

“Uh, hello, I-I wanted to ask about the, um… The modeling thing?”

“Ah, yes! Thank goodness, nobody had actually called in for it yet,” he says, laughing. “Are you interested?”

“I am, yes,” you reply, smiling. He sounds eager and definitely excited that you’re taking the job.

“Great! Are you available tomorrow morning at eleven? I have an assignment due in two weeks and I’d love to get a head-start on it.”

Wait, tomorrow? Oh gosh, that’s quick. You nod, but then realize he can’t see you (smooth) and say that yes, you can be there tomorrow, and he thanks you again before hanging up.

You exhale loudly, pressing the receiver to your chest. Tomorrow at eleven, you remind yourself, writing it on the back of your hand with the pen in your pocket. Hopefully he’s not as loud as he sounded on the phone.

– – – 

You stop in front of dorm room 618A, fiddling with the zipper on your coat. This was the right place, and almost the right time— you got lost, so now it’s about six minutes past eleven rather than on the dot of. Knuckles rap on the door and you bite your lip, listening to the approaching footsteps on the other side.

The door opens and reveals a tall, brown-haired man, wearing thick glasses and a wide smile. He instantly lights up, ushering you inside.

“Are you my star model?”

“I, um— I guess I am,” you laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “You’re Stanford Pines, yeah? I’m sorry I’m a little late…”

“No, don’t worry about it! I overslept a little myself, so we’re both off today,” he says, and you feel a little more at ease. He takes you into his room and you look around, noting the art supplies strewn across the desk and the easel next to his mattress, which was propped up against the wall with the sheets hanging off it.

“I broke my bed apart and decided to have just the mattress. Makes it easier when I need more room, you know?”

You nod, your focus turning to him. His dark eyes fix on you as you ask, “So, what do I need to do, exactly?”

“Oh, right!” He puts his hands on your shoulders and guides you to a spot next to the window, his desk chair sitting in the spot with the most light. “This is why I asked you to come somewhat early, see. The light in here is perfect at this time of day, and my assignment is a study of light and dark spaces.”

Stanford gently pushes you down onto the chair and crouches in front of you, squinting against the sun in his eyes. He takes your hands and places them on your knees, pushing your legs together slightly, and the pads of his fingertips tilt your chin up to him. He falters for a moment, but you tilt your head in question and he shakes himself out of it, adjusting you with slight touches until you’re in a general sitting position, back straight against the chair, hands on your knees.

“Alright, just stare at something for a while, and try not to move.”

And so you did. For an hour and a half, you sat in the spot, watching the specks of dust in the light behind you. Stanford looks up at you every so often, telling you to sit up straight once or twice, but other than that, it’s a comfortable silence between the two of you.

“Okay, that’s the sketch done for today.”

“Can I—?”

“Oh, yes! You can stand up now.”

You carefully get to your feet and stretch your arms above your head, craning your head back, then walk to Stanford’s side. The sketch is incredible: he’d managed to capture every crease in your clothes, the slight dreamy expression on your face seemingly effortless on paper.

“It’s… It’s incredible,” you breathe, and Stanford grins up at you proudly.

“Why, thank you! I’ve gotten quite a bit of recognition for my work,” he boasts, but he means well. “And you’ve made the perfect model, too. You really are my new muse, it would seem.”

You blush pink and he laughs, standing to pat your shoulder. “Have you got anywhere to be, anyone expecting you?”

“Oh, no.” You shake your head; nobody but your roommate would realize you were gone, and even then, they didn’t acknowledge you too much. “I, uh, I don’t have many friends on campus, so it’ll be fine.”

Stanford raises a brow, but his confident smile becomes softer. “Well, you’ve got me now. And besides, you’re a wonderful person, maybe you just haven’t found similarly wonderful people yet. Coffee?”

The two of you sit in the coffee shop down the road and talk for hours, and Stanford tells you about several clubs he’s gotten involved in, one of which involving a game that both of you loved. You find that maybe he was right, you just hadn’t found the right sort of person to befriend yet.

He was perfect for the part.


End file.
